


And the Horse You Rode In On

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all need something in the morning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Horse You Rode In On

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine OF Dreams and Schemes #8, Cathy Schlien editor, under the pen name Gillian Holt.

          The two halves of Colonel Paul Ironhorse's bedroom curtains refused to touch.  One wrinkle in the otherwise perfectly straight folds created the imperfection.  Through that fraction of an inch the morning sun launched its attack on the sleeping man's eyelids, heating up the thin membranes, and illuminating the blessed blackness of sleep.  The man groaned and rolled onto his side, burying the majority of his face into the soft, warm pillow.

          Undaunted by the man's tactical reply, the sunlight continued, landing on the Colonel's ear.  He groaned again, pulling the sheet up over the delicate auditory pinna.  The assault proceeded, quickly turning the space beneath the white cotton shroud into a oxygen-less sauna.

          Ironhorse groggily floated up from the respite of sleep. 

          He couldn't breathe. 

          His ear was on fire! 

          A jolt of adrenaline snapped the Special Forces officer to a seated position, the sheet torn off his face, a hand cupping his ear.  It was still there, warm to the touch, but definitely not combusting.  However, he was awake.

          A thunderous moan escaped his throat as Ironhorse fell back against the pillow only to sit up abruptly when momentarily blinded by the sunlight still sneaking past the curtains.  The Colonel glared at the folds of cloth.

          Slowly Ironhorse maneuvered his uncooperative legs over the side of the bed.  Somewhere in the deepest recesses of the man's brain, a word began to form.  It drifted around several fuzzy, sleep-filled corners, then popped fully blown into consciousness.  Coffee.

          Rising like a robot in need of an oil bath, the soldier fixed the objective in his mind, identified the correct direction in which to launch his offensive and started forward.  One step... Two... Three... The tip of his big toe caught the leg of the heavy oak dresser, stalling his inexorable roll toward the kitchen. 

          Ironhorse's eyes opened fully for the first time.  Stepping back he looked down to see if the digit remained attached. 

          Affirmative.

          He took a step forward to test the damage.  Pain and function levels?  Acceptable.  Continue with the mission.

          Reaching the closed door, Ironhorse attacked the obstacle with single-minded determination.  This was a search and destroy mission.  He would not fail. 

          The slippery knob overcome, the hallway loomed out before him, vanishing to a point at the far end.  Coffee!

          He moved forward, unable to prevent himself from using the standard avoidance-weaving pattern down the hard-wood floors, escaping any enemy booby-traps, and just managing to avoid crashing into the walls.  The stairway loomed closer. 

          Reaching the summit of the stairs, Ironhorse peeked out through cracked eyelids and estimated the probable damage he'd sustain if the mission failed at this point.  Severe to mortal.

          COFFEE.

          He stepped off into the danger.  No guts, no glory...

          How he accomplished the descent without mishap was a complete mystery to the Colonel, but he chalked it up to experience and preparedness.  Something he'd heard once about luck and fools surfaced, but he ignore it.  He was zeroing in on the objective.  Only the shorter hallway remained... thirty feet...  No problem. 

          COFFEE!

          Problem.  He hadn't planned on encountering booby-traps this close to the goal.  A single rollerskate sat two feet from the door to the kitchen.  The skate was patient, waiting for the perfect opportunity... Ironhorse stepped on it.

          For the second time his eyes opened wide, watching the doorframe hurling toward his face.  Survival reflexes, shaped and hardened in the forge of battle sprang forward.  Ironhorse hugged the doorframe. 

          The skate rolled happily off down the hall.

          The Colonel maintained his grip on the doorframe for a full five seconds before pride stepped in and shook him off.  It wouldn't do for the others to find him like that.  Turning, Ironhorse was rewarded by the object of his mission waiting quietly on the counter.

          Four steps. 

          Mission accomplished. 

          He reached out and pressed the machine's button to 'on.'  Now it was just a wait and see operation.  He closed his eyes, savoring the aroma drifting up with the steam.  It was rich, sweet... The Colonel lost himself in a rapture of expectation.

          Drawing in a deep whiff, he opened his eyes halfway.

          Locate cup, his brain commanded.  The hands obeyed.

          Holding the instrument in one palm he calculated his chances of success.  It was a strategic maneuver, one requiring precise timing, a steady hand, and lightning fast reflexes... The odds? ... slim, at best. 

          Still it was worth a try in order to gain a temporal advantage over the machine.  Gripping the handle of the cup he moved it next to the sparkling glass pot filled with a inch or so of the precious brown liquid.  In his other hand Ironhorse took hold of the pot's handle.  One the count of three...

          One... Two ... Three...

          He snatched the pot out from under the thin but steady flow cascading through the plastic lid that served no apparent function as far as the Colonel could determine.  Shoving the cup under drip he nodded, and produced a self-satisfied grunt.      His eyes drooped closed again as he waited for the cup to fill.

          "'Morning, Colonel!"

          Coffee pot abandoned, Ironhorse's eyes flew wide, his gaze locking on the only available weapon on the sink counter.  He grabbed it, and without hesitation launched himself at the intruder.

          With the weapon laying snugly along the man's neck, Ironhorse finally recognized that it was Harrison Blackwood pinned against the refrigerator.  The black eyes narrowed at the traces of amusement shining in the man's blue.  Harrison's expression sobered, just a touch of fear creeping in.  Good, let him wonder, the soldier thought.

          "Huh, Colonel?" the physicist whispered, trying to smile.

Ironhorse growled, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. The smile melted.  "Huh, Paul?  It's me, Colonel.  Remember?  The Blackwood Project.  I'm your boss?"

          Harrison's eyes widened slightly when the weapon pressed deeper into his skin.  "Well, sort of your boss."  He drew in a breath, then held it.  What _was_ the Colonel holding against his jugular?  Blackwood grinned.

          "Did I, huh, startle you?" Harrison asked sweetly.

          "How many times?  How many times have I told you, Blackwood?  Don't sneak up on me!"

          "I know, Colonel.  I apologize.  But, just what exactly are you planning to do with this spatula?"

          For the first time Ironhorse looked down at the weapon he'd ended up with.  The edge of Mrs. Pennyworth's spatula was pressed up against the physicist's neck, a streak of frosting above it.

          "What flavor?" Blackwood asked innocently.

          The Colonel briefly wondered if this particular kitchen utensil had the capacity to be converted into a lethal weapon.  "Chocolate," he said.

          "Ah.  Guess I caught you a little off guard, huh, Colonel?"

          "And the horse you rode in on, Blackwood," Ironhorse said, removing the cake-frosting device and depositing the remainder of the sticky brown goo on Harrison's nose.  The Colonel smiled.

          Both their heads turned as Norton Drake rolled into the room.  "Gertrude, stop.  Good mo— My coffee!"

          Three pairs of eyes fixated on the pot, the coffee cup, and the brown liquid running over the top of the later and spreading out along the counter and dripping onto the floor.  A chorus of groans rose.

          "What's wrong?" Suzanne stopped behind Drake, her face wrinkling in despair.  "Who?"

          "Him," Harrison and Ironhorse accused in unison, each glaring at the other.

          "I see," the microbiologist said.

          "Yeah, don't I just," Norton concurred.

          "Mom?"

          Suzanne stepped aside to let her daughter join her in the doorway.  "What's all the noise?"  The girl quickly surveyed the situation.  "Pretty big mess."

          "All that perfectly good coffee.  Wasted," Drake lamented.

          "Mom?"

          "Yes, Debi?"

          "I read in one of your books that coffee has lots of caffeine."

          "That's right, dear," she said sadly.  "Lots."

          "The book said that caffeine is an addictive drug.  Are all of you addicted?"  Four heads turned to regard the girl.  She blinked back innocently.  It wasn't often she was able to get all four at once.

          Ironhorse's face brightened.  He turned, stepped forward and carefully removed the full cup.  Maneuvering it over the sink, he poured out just enough to make it, then lifted the ceramic to his lips.  He sipped.  He sighed.

          "Not fair!" Suzanne complained.

          Blackwood, seeing a second opportunity, stepped forward and corralled the pot.  He held it up.  "Half a cup I'd guess."

          "Want to flip for it?" Norton asked.

          "Not a chance."

          Drake looked up at the biologist.  "Well, doc, I guess we're on our own."

          She nodded seriously.  "But you know, I might not be responsible for my actions if I don't get some of my own, real quick."

          "I know what you mean."

          Harrison took his first sip and smiled blissfully.  "Not to worry, I've been resurrected.  More elixir coming up."

          "Smart man," Suzanne said.

          "Too true," Norton agreed.

          Ironhorse watched as Blackwood soaked up the mess with the kitchen sponge and set a second pot to brewing.  Blackwood tossed the empty paper container away.  The Colonel forced a smile back.  It was hard to believe the small group was responsible for trying to repel an alien invasion of Earth.

          "Oh," Debi said, turning to head back to her room.  "Mrs. Pennyworth said that was the last of the ground coffee beans."

          The four adults all stared at the slowly filling pot.  There would be enough for four cups, if they were lucky.

          "We were here first," Blackwood said, looking to the Colonel to back him up.

          "No way!" Norton said.  "You already had some, Suzanne and I have to get a kick-start."

          Ironhorse cleared his throat.  "Harrison has a point—"

          Debi grinned happily as she climbed the stairs to her room.  "And they call me a kid," she said to no one in particular.  "Wonder if I should tell them about the unground beans...  Naw."


End file.
